The Battle of Ginny Weasley
by DarkAngelSnapeLover
Summary: It's post-Hogwarts in a Muggle world, one where Ginny is the ex-wife of the famous Harry Potter. Her unhappiness built itself over ten long years, but now she's ready to put a plan into motion to take her away from it all. Will she be successful or will the powerful corporate genius keep her tied to the city that tortures her? Alternate universe, set in New York City.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

"Miss Weasley, I'll ask you again," her therapist sighed, marking something on his notepad, "why do you still dream of your ex-husband even though you hate his guts?"

Ginny shrugged. "He took everything from me, he stole my children. I think I dream about him because I can't get that off my mind. I could never forget those first three years of our marriage when everything was so blissful, but...I'll never let go of the four after that when I became a doormat for all things unholy. He should pay for that, he should pay for that more than anyone will allow me to, but...I just don't feel the need anymore. He'll get his. He'll get everything he deserves and then some."

"That's our time," the therapist sighed. "I'll be referring you to Dr. Rengal for next week's session. I'll be out of town on business, and well, I don't think I can help you. You seem to enjoy being angry, you love hating your ex-husband. I can't get involved and tell you how justified it is, and neither can she, but...she'll tell you anyway," he winked, looking to his watch. "You might want to sign up for an hour at the desk, just in case. She has a way of getting people like you to talk. You'll feel better for it, trust me."

"I was thinking of quitting, but if you think one more will help," Ginny muttered, moving to the front desk. "I've been in therapy off and on for ten years, Dr. Morrison. That final option move has happened four times now, and none of them have paid off. It was a nice six months with you. I guess I thought it could help or something."

"Therapy always helps, Miss Weasley," he smiled, but Ginny didn't respond. "You aren't coming back, are you?"

"Apologize to Dr. Rengal for me. I'm sure she could care less, but apologize anyway," Ginny said softly, taking her receipt. "I might have enough to move into a bigger apartment if I get rid of therapy altogether. It'd be nice."

The two watched her leave, making sure the door was completely shut before exchanging glances.

"If anyone could use Dr. Rengal's help, it's her, but it isn't my place to interfere. You tried, doctor, you really tried."

"Thanks, Trudy. Cancel my two o'clock, will you? I need a drink after thirty minutes of her," he groaned, heading back into his office. He poured himself a cup of coffee and spiked it with some liquid from a flask. He'd been away from alcohol for thirteen years, and now was no exception. He just liked making the secretary think, and especially his prodding ex-wife Dr. Rengal. Ginny was right to leave; he'd made the request out of spite. Now he wouldn't get the luxury of laughing at her during custody exchanges, but it's not like those happened much anymore anyhow. He sighed heavily. Maybe he should've kept Ginny on his patient list. They had a lot in common with dreadful divorces and custody battles, but she was just too depressing. It'd been ten years since her divorce, and her children were now almost grown. She never fought back for them; she let her ex-husband, the leader of her company, take them without a fuss. She was too quiet, too passive, too everything, yet he didn't think she deserved her suffering. No one did, but Ginny wouldn't hear a word.

"You've got another one on your desk, Miss Weasley. I tried to tell them they already sent it, but—"

"I know. I was taking too long," Ginny sighed.

Ginny was the editor of the business documents distributed to customers for Potter Industries. The company managed numerous projects, namely the building of huge skyscrapers like the one the company thrived in. Eighteen different countries required their services, and James Potter built this empire during his short life to be the best combination of builder's needs. Harry was to inherit everything well after his father's sixty-fifth birthday, but he passed from a heart attack at an early age. Now Harry was working his way up the company, which was run by James Potter's good friend Remus, but Ginny knew it'd be just another year or so before he took over.

Her job was a simple one, but it was monotonous. She spent her day reading over project plans, production manuals, and anything else the company was printing up. They tried to keep everything in-house over the years, which explained the manufacturing instructions she was editing now, which made the company even larger, and the CEO position more coveted. Harry would want that job soon and he would get it, but Ginny would never receive a promotion. She hadn't since their divorce, and she wouldn't get one if things remained the way they were.

Her day finished at six-thirty, an hour after everyone else. Ginny's job was also done at home, reading and editing the many documents that passed through her desk. She made more than anyone else in her position, but namely because of standard of living raises. Harry made sure she was never too fed up to leave, but he didn't exactly give her many ways to advance either. He was vindictive, angry that Ginny would ever leave him over something as petty as numerous affairs, and Ginny, nicknamed the Doormat by her colleagues, seemed to take each blow without attempting to fight back.

Whispers sounded from a back room as Ginny left, a bundle of paperwork at the bottom of her purse. They all knew she spent an extra thirty minutes at lunch for therapy sessions with four different doctors. The extra thirty minutes on Friday was to have lunch with her sister-in-law, Hermione, who was carefree and gave Ginny a lot to look forward to. Hermione was always pressuring her to have such a great life, but she seemed to forget that the only thing that ever mattered to Ginny—her children—were in Harry's custody, shipped far from New York to a prep school in England. Ginny spent her weekends in her quiet walk-up apartment writing letters to the kids that she would never send and staring at the only pictures she had of them, pictures ten years older than they now were.

But the therapy sessions would end. She'd written off the first therapist two weeks ago for insulting her behavior, her desire to just disappear. She'd been with him the shortest amount of time so the process of writing him off was easy. Dr. Smith was next, though she hadn't met with Ginny in six weeks due to prior engagements. Ginny knew that meant she was being quietly let go, as it had happened seven times before. Dr. Morrison was a little harder to escape, but the request to change doctors was Ginny's way of getting out. Now she just had one more to leave, but it would be hard for her. She liked talking out her problems with people, especially since her only true friend seemed to be Hermione, but she wanted the money from therapy to go to better things. She'd lived in the same apartment since her divorce, but now it was time to move on. She wanted to finally leave Potter Industries and break out on her own, but she couldn't bare it with so many connections lying around. She had two more people to break away from: her final therapist and her sister-in-law. She had two more weeks before she wanted to flee, so she had to act fast. But she liked taking her time too, and the date had been moved three times already.

"Ma'am, if you aren't going to order, would you get off my bar?" a gruff man huffed, interrupting her thoughts. Ginny walked into this sports bar a few times a week for a sandwich, and today was no exception. She ordered her usual before getting back to her thoughts, or at least trying to.

"I know you," a woman smiled from beside her, taking a seat. "You work in a dead-end job for a man you hate, and the only thing keeping you from offing him is...well I don't know what keeps women from doing such a thing. It seems so common on television, but you never know one of those broads in real life, now do you?"

"I don't really want to be bothered," Ginny whispered. The woman laughed kindly, waving to the bartender for another beer.

"I'm only playing you, Miss Weasley. You and I were at a conference last year for Potter Industries. You've been in the same position for nearly ten years, breaking their little mantra about advancement. I've kept up with you because you surprise me, you surprise everyone. You may've changed your name, but your past follows you everywhere," she said, accepting a beer from the bartender. She winked at him before he walked away; he never even attempted to add it to her tab. "My aunt and I want to help you break free from that past, but you won't get anywhere sitting at bars alone every night."

"I do not come here every night," Ginny argued, but she immediately caught herself. She had eaten here every night this week, getting lost in the baseball and hockey games playing on the television. "Okay, it's been a rough week. But the food here is pretty good, and people typically don't approach me."

"Well I am not your typical person, Miss Weasley. Here's my aunt's card. She's an editor for a publishing company downtown, you know, where the big money is. I told her a little about your past, and she really thinks you should do something about your sleazy ex-husband. We're not talking anything deadly; I was only joking with you," the strange woman smiled. "But you do need to get out of this rut of yours and do something. It's been over ten years now, if my math is correct, and you should be doing better for yourself, and for your children."

"I don't have custody of my children," Ginny said sternly, standing just as her plate arrived.

"Oh, come on, Ma'am! I've got real customers sitting around here!"

"Then box the damn sandwich! I'm hungry too, you know!" Ginny yelled back at the gruff bartender. She looked back at the woman as all eyes turned to her. "I'm leaving in a few weeks once I get everything in place. I don't want this town and it definitely doesn't want me!" she spat.

"So you're giving up? Come on, Ginny, you've got to free yourself properly or you'll never get anywhere. Take this card and ask for my Aunt Rita, okay? She'll help you work through some things, and...she'll make you the richest woman in the world," the woman smiled. Ginny snatched the card before throwing a wad of cash at the bartender.

"He spit in that!" a man called from down the bar. Ginny glared at the bartender, opening her box to see the damage. She then threw it at him, knowing it was still hot from the fryer. Her days and nights of wadding up and tossing botched papers served her well.

She was in jail for assault within the hour, and there wasn't a thing anyone could say to make Ginny feel any sort of guilt about her actions.

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around her jail-smelling sister-in-law. "You should've told me you were having such a bad time of things! They're dropping the charges, but you've got to get help for yourself!"

Hermione's minivan was outside. A general crustiness similar to the jail cell covered every inch, and signs of every age of child littered the vehicle. Two empty juice boxes and seven stale French fries kept Ginny from immediately entering the van. Anything would be better than a cab, Ginny thought, but the stickiness covering the seat belt made her change her mind.

"They want you to call this therapist for the county. It'll be worth your while and it'll keep them from pressing the charges. You burnt him pretty good, and...I'm sorry I'm taking their side on this one. You're suffering so much, and I just want you to be happy," Hermione sighed. "Do you want to stay with Ron and me?"

Ginny hadn't seen her brother in five years. Harry and Ron remained close after the divorce, just as they were during high school and college. Even a ruined marriage couldn't keep them apart, but Ginny wished Harry's antics wouldn't follow their nights out. Ginny saw the two get out of a limousine filled with beautiful women, something Hermione would never approve of. She told her immediately, and Ron told her not to enter their home again.

"I'm not allowed, remember?" Ginny murmured, wanting to lean her head on the cool window of the car but resisting the urge due to the mystery grime coating the glass. "I wish you wouldn't write off the past so much, Hermione. It's depressing."

"You're depressing, Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's sad watching you go through this day after day. I mean, we don't see other every day like we used to, but I know you could be doing better for yourself. Just look at this situation, Ginny. You assaulted a rude bartender with a sandwich. Most women just throw their drinks, but you took it to the extreme, and you did some real damage. What part about this story shows a strong woman who can stand on her own two feet without her own baggage weighing her down? And screw Ron, okay? He's not home tonight anyhow," Hermione whispered.

"What do you mean he's not home?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed, stopping for a red light and looking to Ginny with sad eyes. "He stays out most nights now. It's okay, really it is. We've got nine children, Ginny. It's not like he can get a word in edge wise, and-"

"You're getting a divorce?" Ginny finished. Hermione shrugged, pulling forward as the light turned green. "It's better to leave them. They obviously don't care about your feelings when they're with strange women all the time. Marriage was supposed to be holy, permanent. It was built for two people, not one dedicated person and one person who likes to fuck around. Take everything you can from him. I never got the chance."

"Ginny, I don't want a divorce. We're going to counseling, and we'll work things out," Hermione said sternly, pulling onto the freeway. "Ron and I are meant for each other. We're soul mates! And those nine children need a father. I might be losing some to the world soon, and they need their father there to help them through the change."

"Not if their father acts the way he does," Ginny sighed. "Harry at least put our children in a foreign school so they don't have to see him act the way he does. Don't put your children through that."

"Yeah, and your children are lost sheep who think both parents hate them," Hermione scoffed. "They want to know why you don't write. I told them countless times that it was all a part of the divorce proceedings, that you were to keep fully away from your children, but they don't believe me. They know their father feels he's doing the right thing while he fails miserably, but you? They want more from you. I'm the only reason they know what you look like. I'm the only reason they even know one thing about you."

"What did you tell them about me?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed heavily. "I told them you were a broken woman trapped by the hell her ex-husband put her through. It was the only way to convey to them the love I know you feel for them, but...they don't believe that you love them. You never fought for them, and now it's too late. You let him trap you in that dead-end job for ten years, and now your oldest is seventeen years old. He'll be an adult in six months, and the courts won't even fool with any child over the age of sixteen who seems to be in a decent environment. You've got to make it up to them."

"It's too late," Ginny sighed, looking out the window as the suburbs came into view. She wanted to be alone in her own apartment rather than surrounded by her nine nieces and nephews, but she didn't want to say anything. Maybe she really was a doormat, but maybe she was just waiting for the right time. "I write them letters every night, and I've done that for years. I don't send them because I'm not allowed to, and you're not allowed to either," Ginny added sternly. "I want a picture of them as they are now, maybe even some from in between. I want to reconnect with them the moment they become adults, to try to make it up."

"You're right though, Ginny. I think it is too late," Hermione sighed, taking the exit ramp and hitting the roads of her neighborhood. The two remained silent for the rest of the trip, knowing they'd be entering a wild house when they reached her driveway. Ginny silently daydreamed about what her household would've been like had Harry taken the right path. She'd done that every night for years, it seemed, and she'd never slept more than four hours at a time, and those times were assisted by wine or sleeping pills. Now she wanted to sleep more than anything, to forget the waking life she wanted to leave behind. Her decision was made: She needed to leave New York while she still could.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

(A/N: Some minor language is in this chapter, and some violence)

Ginny's bar adventure was somehow left out of the papers, making her workday completely uneventful. She skipped lunch, trying to get ahead from losing an evening of reading and editing. She had fifteen jobs due by the end of the day, or at least by seven o'clock, and she had to make the deadline if she didn't want to get reprimanded by Neville Longbottom, her current overseer.

Neville went to school with them years ago, choosing to pursue a career in education right after graduation. But after a few unfortunate events, he came to Potter Industries to grovel to Harry, who was at the time angry at Ginny for calling him out on his affairs. Neville was spiteful now, abused by the American education system's numerous bad apples. Angering him was the equivalent of pulling the pin on a hand grenade and holding it in your hand: You weren't sure how it would end but you knew it wouldn't be pleasant. Neville was also angry about keeping the same position year after year. Ginny had been in the same spot since graduation after a two-year degree, meaning she'd been in her position at least five years longer than Neville had his, yet he was more angry than she could ever be.

"Smith, get in here!" Neville boomed, calling back a new colleague. She'd been transferred from the accounting department after some errors. Sending her to the department meant to catch all written mistakes was the perfect payback, at least in Harry's mind. "WHAT IS THIS?!" Neville screamed. Though his door was shut, everyone still froze at the sound.

"I knew she wouldn't make it," Kimberly sighed. She was in a cubicle next door to Ginny's, another slap on the wrist. Kimberly had massive credit card debt after three years of college partying. To make up for it, she worked at Potter Industries and The Cat's Claws, a strip club nearby. Kimberly was one of the first Ginny caught Harry with. Kimberly was now two positions above Ginny managing entire projects and writing the documents herself. She had no college experience while Ginny had an associate's degree in English. The slap on the wrist was more like a hammer, Ginny realized, and she trembled at the thought.

"Ginny, I got in another pile from upstairs," Jason said with a light smile. He was new here, a recruit from a local high school who thought the corporate life was dreamy. You'd think with the pile of crappy work he delivered to Ginny alone, he'd get the hint to get out while he could. Yet he was still chipper and tried to strike up a conversation with her about the mail. She ignored him, opening the package with her company-provided letter opener.

"Jason, I have some important packages on that cart. Keep the chitchat to a minimum, 'kay?" Kimberly grinned darkly, snatching her boxes from him. "I expect you not to damage anymore packages either. Two of mine were dented yesterday, narrowly missing a data CD."

"I'm sorry, Kim. I can't help how they-"

"I hate being called Kim," she hissed, spinning in her chair and causing it to creak. Jason sighed; Kimberly was ignoring him too. His squeaky cart wobbled up the aisle as Ginny got back to work, trying her hardest to ignore Neville's yelling and Smith's sobbing. She wouldn't be back in her cubicle later, Ginny thought. She'd flee from the building as soon as possible, probably leaving behind a few valuables. She'd come back the next day with a friend to retrieve them, because at most companies they would still be there. Neville had wanted to get rid of her frilly picture frames from the first day, however, so everything would be trashed as soon as she uttered the words, "Fine, I'm leaving!"

But those words never came. She was crying, sobbing, and shaking, but she kept working. Neville stood in his doorway shaking his head as everyone else tried to ignore the scene. He'd fire her later for sure, but she was safe for the afternoon, even if no one else seemed to be. Neville broke into a loud lecture as he walked the paths between cubicles, rubbing in Smith's failure while trying to prevent more—all while distracting everyone from their tasks.

When Ginny's phone rang, she decided not to answer. Hermione was calling about dinner, which was an hour away. Ginny would have to stay where she was past that time, if Neville didn't explode and napalm the entire department.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Neville asked her darkly.

"Ginny Weasley, editing. How may I help you?" Ginny said halfway cheerfully. Neville sneered as he continued to yell as he walked up the aisle.

"What the hell is going on with you?" Hermione asked. Ginny sighed, choosing not to answer. "I have to work late. Just get something without me."

She hung up as Neville launched himself at the messy break room. He fired the only one who kept it orderly for having a stain on three separate projects. They'd tried to get the printer fixed in her area for ages with no success, which meant that ink spots were common. Most customers could care less, but Neville cared more, way too much in everyone's opinion. But he was where Harry wanted him, just like Ginny and just like Kimberly. If Smith was lucky, she'd be spared, but now she just wanted away from her relentless boss. Everyone did, but they were all afraid to move.

Ginny finished a few projects as his tirade continued past five o'clock. The rest would have to be done as quickly as possible, but she couldn't work with the yelling. No one could, yet they remained frozen, eying the clock as he paced the aisles. When he caught someone staring at the clock, everyone immediately froze even more than before. Silence gripped the area for the first time in ages, and surprisingly, Neville let everyone go.

"You too, Weasley!" Neville called darkly, storming into his office and slamming the door.

"You still owe people those projects," Kimberly sneered over the wall. "I suggest you work in the elevator with all the classy people. It'll serve you well."

Kimberly moved towards the stairs, always her choice. Ginny sighed, grabbing her projects and moving into a supply closet to work. Two others were there with the same idea, but today they were caught. Neville made them all leave, except Ginny.

"You're being rather insubordinate today," he grinned darkly. "I also heard a little rumor that you were involved in a little incident last night. I suggest you keep your personal affairs to yourself like always, yes?" he asked. Ginny nodded as he eyed her work. "Go home, Weasley, and think harder about not doing your work when you're asked."

Ginny kept her thoughts to herself as she tossed the unfinished projects into her bottom filing cabinet. She didn't have time to do everything during her workday, which was partly his fault. Ginny or Lyndsi always had to take minutes at his meetings, and his tirades happened at least once a week, keeping everyone from thinking straight. The entire position was a mess, and after ten-plus years, Ginny felt herself growing tired of the fight.

"I told you to leave!" Neville called after her, slamming the door to the stairs behind him. He stayed on the other side, watching as she bent down to do something behind her cubicle wall. He opened the door. "Ginny, come on. No more tonight."

"No," Ginny said, rising up with a light smile. "I don't know what those nasty little brats at the school system did to you, but you've become the worst human being I've ever met. You're hateful, and in everyone's opinion, you're a worthless man who overcompensates his shitty life by taking it out on everyone else. You can take your stupid fucking projects," she spat, throwing the papers at him, "and shove them up your fucking ass!"

"You do realize you won't be allowed back here, not tomorrow and not ever?"

"I don't want this fucking job! Harry's got his micro penis shoved up everyone's ass, and you know what, asshole? I hope you enjoy it! That's why you'll never get a promotion! He's using you like he uses everyone else."

"Seriously, Ginny, you can't come back from this. No one will take you back. No one ever does," he grinned. Ginny smiled to him, launching one final project in his direction.

"Go jump off a building, Longbottom," Ginny spat, pushing past him to take the stairs down. She heard the door open again behind her. She looked up to see Neville smiling. "You haven't won, Ginny. You never will."

Rather than follow her down, he disappeared in the office again. Ginny scoffed, entering the lobby with her head held high. She was finally done with this place, and it felt more liberating than any other time in her life.

She walked home, collapsing on her sofa and turning on her television. There was nothing on, but that was fine with her. She grabbed a glass-bottled soda from the fridge, something she rarely drank to keep to her diet, and drank it greedily while she ate a bag of microwavable popcorn. For the first time in a while, she was happy.

Ginny opened her apartment door to see Karen Thomas, head of the human resources department at Potter Industries. She was older than she looked and planning to retire at the end of the year, though the company was forcing her through hoops about the process. She ranted to anyone who would listen on the elevator, which is why most people preferred the stairs. Karen wasn't the only disgruntled worker, but it's not like it was Ginny's problem anymore.

"The company's that way, Karen, and no, I'm not going back," Ginny said sternly, beginning to close the door in her face. Karen placed her hand firmly on it, keeping it open. "If it's about yesterday, I really did mean to quit. You know my situation. I should've left years ago."

"I could care less about what happened yesterday or with the rest of your career with the company. It's about Neville, your former boss," she sighed, pushing her way inside and taking a seat on Ginny's sofa. "You were recorded as telling him to go jump off a building, Ginny. That's a threat, a serious one. We know you were angry, and we'll forgive all the little words you said to him before that. But threatening the life of a man who died last night? Well, that makes you a suspect."

"What? He actually did it?"

"No, he was robbed at gunpoint not far from his apartment, a gruesome scene," she said sternly, grabbing a piece of Ginny's toast.

"Unless the cops are going to get involved, I suggest you leave. And keep your fucking hands off my breakfast," Ginny spat, pulling her plate from the table. Karen grinned, standing while licking crumbs from her fingers.

"I've gotta hand it to you, Ginny, you've really started to grab your life by the horns. I heard about that little incident at the bar that never made the papers. You are a lucky one on that one, but...this new attitude suits you. You should've gotten angry a long, long time ago after what that scum bag did to you. Did you know that he tried to ask me out not long after you started working there? I mean, everyone knew the man was married. Your picture was all over the office, especially the ones when you were pregnant," she smiled. "He thought I would want him, a confirmed lesbian who was waiting to marry her partner of fifteen years legally," she laughed, shaking her head. "I'm trying to get a case against them about my retirement issues from the inside. Now that Neville's gone, I could use your help in confirming that your department was completely orchestrated by Harry from the beginning."

"I don't follow you."

"I'm going to clear his office myself. I control the keys, remember," she grinned, holding up one of two master keys available. James Potter gave his to Remus, who was hands-off with the company now. The other belonged to human resources, specifically Karen. "I'll get together the evidence if you'll go through it. It'll probably contain something we can add to the lawsuit to bring everyone down. It'll be great!"

"I was hoping to leave soon, actually. I want out of this town, so I'm cutting some ties, and-"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Ginny. You've got to finish off your ex! It'll be perfect!"

"I think I'll go back to my original demand. I want you to leave, Karen. I won't help you bring down the company because I don't give a damn about the company. Just leave and shut up about it, forget about it, okay?"

"You won't get your last paycheck, or the rest of the money your salary allows. I hope you have enough savings built up somewhere," she scoffed, trying to grab another piece of toast before leaving. "You've gotten a little too far over the spectrum, sweetie. I suggest you put that anger to good use before someone gets hurt."

"Get out," Ginny sighed, slamming the door behind her and latching each lock. She then tossed her breakfast out the window onto the street below, narrowly missing Karen as she got back into her car.

"You shouldn't waste good food like that!" she yelled back.

"Fuck you!"

Ginny slammed the window shut and returned to her couch. She already had everything done, every penny she needed put where it belonged. There were a few more ties, a few more obstacles that she needed to cut and cross. When she was done, she could forget her life existed, just like everyone else.

Ginny looked up from her meal to see her brother staring at her with contempt. She hadn't faced him in so long, and civil conversations didn't exist in the two's history. She and Ron started a dislike for each other the moment Ginny's marriage to his best friend started to falter. The moment it was destroyed, she meant nothing to him. With Harry so vindictive about the whole thing, Ron probably endured countless conversations of sister-slamming, which made him numb to her position. He was gone to her now, a figment of their past.

Yet here he stood, staring at her like he wanted to say something but the words couldn't come, wouldn't come. Ginny just stared; she had no more feelings now, just hunger and the desire to finish her meal in peace.

"My children told me you stayed with them, that you smelled like jail. How did that happen?" he asked sternly, snatching a chair from a nearby table and sitting in it, keeping it where it was. Ginny shrugged. He didn't want to know that story. He needed an opening, a way to make contact while still appearing better than her. "My daughter said you did something you shouldn't have, but that would be why you'd end up in jail. I always knew you'd be in trouble somehow, yet you were never mentioned in this," he spat, slamming down a copy of the next morning's paper. "No Ginny Potter, no Ginny Weasley."

"I changed my name," Ginny whispered calmly.

"I don't give a damn!" Ron spat. People from other tables noticed as he moved over to her and squatted to look her in the eye. "You ruin everything you touch! You're the reason my marriage failed, the reason why I can only see my children on pre-planned outings! I'll spend thousands to get custody, thousands I don't have!"

"I never got the chance to fight for my children," Ginny countered softly, seeming to talk only to herself.

"You're a worthless bitch! You deserve every bad experience you ever received! You-!"

But he was cut off by large waiters pushing him outside. While everyone in the restaurant stared, even the kitchen staff through the pass, Ginny got back to her meal. She'd written Ron off long ago as being in the same field as Harry. His marriage ended because he couldn't be faithful, and it was that simple. Any money he spent trying to get his children back full-time would hopefully be wasted. Ginny never got that experience because of Harry's power, but Hermione would, and she envied her for it.

Ginny left the restaurant and headed to a nearby park for a quick walk. She was enjoying the greenery, imaging the new life she'd planned for herself, when she heard a familiar laugh behind her. The woman from the bar, the niece of the publisher whoever Rita Skeeter. The card she gave her was burning a hole through the building's trash as she skipped over to her, a melting ice cream cone in her hand.

"His freezer broke so he's giving them out for free!" she laughed, trying to lick the melting ice cream from her hand before it hit the ground. She wasn't having much luck, and it didn't help that Ginny kept walking. "Oh, come on, everyone likes ice cream!"

"I'm lactose intolerant," Ginny murmured, continuing to walk towards the park's fountain. She wanted to sit beside it, alone, to hear the water murmur soothingly, but she knew that wouldn't happen now that this person was here, whatever her name was.

"Ginny, I've got plenty to talk to you about. Aren't you curious about how your little adventure didn't make the paper?" she asked, dropping the half-melted cone into the bushes. "My aunt has connections, and she's willing to make a good deal with you for your story. Come on, you owe her something," she begged, running to get in front of Ginny to block her path. Ginny walked around. "Please, there must be something the former Mrs. Potter could tell the world. You've got to have something locked in that head of yours. You fought back with that bartender and got him fired. Now that was your doing, not ours. We just helped convince them not to file charges, which kept your name from the early edition.

"Ginny, please, give me something to work with here," she sighed, plopping onto a park bench near the fountain. Ginny stopped a few feet from it, staring into the water. Lights from the path were reflecting in the droplets, hypnotizing her as the strange woman panted behind her.

"I truly have nothing to say. Once I leave this city, nothing will matter anymore. I won't have existed. Have you ever wondered what it's like not to exist? Well once I leave, I will. Writing a memoir or whatever for your aunt would change that. No, if I ever write anything down, it'll be for me. Thank her for me about the charges thing. She didn't have to do that; I would've gladly served for the crime," Ginny whispered, walking towards the park's exit.

"Okay, can I be honest?" the woman begged, standing to run after her. "I saw that thing with Ron Weasley. He's your brother, isn't he? Did you know what they're investigating him for?"

"Crimes of passion?" Ginny tried, smirking slightly. "Unless he's being charged for the adultery he and my ex-husband committed together, I could care less. He wrote me off long ago for ruining his friendship with Harry. I wrote him off for being just like him. It worked."

"Well something surely made him mad to get him to attack you like that," she chuckled, giving Ginny a knowing smile. "Your brother is a criminal, Ginny. He's being investigated right now, but the walls are closing in. They're trying to get him to burn his bridges and try to run. That's why he's decided to divorce his wife, though he'll blame you for it every day of the week to keep the pressure off himself.

"Let's look at the whole picture for a moment, shall we?" the woman asked, sitting on a park bench just ahead and begging Ginny to sit down with her hands. Ginny stopped but remained standing. "Oh good!" she cried, stomping her feet with joy. "Okay, so your brother got involved with a few dealings with an old friend, someone even Harry knew to stay away from. He did errands for him first, just the usual beginner's jobs...but then the jobs got more serious until suddenly, he's doing jobs for some guy he's never met. Then the undercovers get a whiff of him, and now he's got a list of presumed charges ten pages long, and that's just the short version."

"I doubt my brother would kill anyone. He's always been squeamish about blood. You're making this up to show what a good storyteller you are. It's the plot of one of your aunt's novels, just altered for the occasion," Ginny smiled. The woman shook her head with a blank gaze. "So he's really done illegal things for someone? Was there cash involved? He has always been greedy."

"Worse, Ginny," the woman sighed, "but it's not your problem. Go, run, but don't bother reading the national news in say...three months. He'll be going in then. What people might want from you is how to connect Harry to him. I'm not saying you ex actually did anything for these people. We all know he's got plenty of perks with his company, so any outside cash isn't important for his survival. But he's made some questionable investment choices over the years. He never wanted you to know, but he did enough to you for it not to matter anymore.

"We want your story to help the others, Ginny. As nasty as your divorce was, the ones who know of it know the details of your marriage could reveal his true character," she said, smiling sympathetically. "If you want to keep him from taking over Potter Industries, you'll consider my aunt's offer, and this isn't about money or anything else. We don't blame you for wanting to disappear from all of this. You should've done it years ago, sister, and taken your children with you. But those days are over, and now there are some tough choices to be made. If he leads that company, which he will if his character isn't smeared enough, then this entire world has something to worry about. His power within the company is already strong enough. What happens when he starts overseeing every project, every contract, within the company's grasp? It may not affect you now, but if he's truly vindictive about your separation, you won't be safe anywhere."

"I've covered my tracks well. Please, I don't want to get involved with this. You shouldn't have told me anything you just did. My brother and my ex are both gone to me. I'm leaving it all behind as soon as I can, and I just want to be left alone," Ginny whispered, beginning to walk away.

"If you want to do some last-minute research before you leave, visit our office. I slipped a few of our cards around your mail box and doorway. You can't miss them," she smiled deviously, watching Ginny head for the entrance of the park.

As Ginny walked, she thought heavily about what the woman told her. If her brother and ex were a part of a growing crime ring, she should do something to stop it. But writing a book would never solve anything. It would just keep her here longer, keep her in his trap for longer. She'd covered her tracks well, she knew. Running would be easy; she just had to get away first.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"Aunt Ginny, can we come in?" the small girl asked. An older sibling was in the car outside blowing gum bubbles, Rosie, Ginny guessed. She barely knew the younger ones at all, so she was reluctant to let the girl inside. It was a weekend morning, however, so it wasn't like she would be missing school. "It's about the other night. Daddy wanted me to talk to you, to see what happened," she beamed. You could tell she didn't understand what she was asking of Ginny; she was simply too happy.

"You and your sister should move along. I have nothing to explain to either of you. Go before I call your mother. Are you even supposed to be this far from home?" Ginny scolded, watching the girl pout and join another younger boy up the hallway. "I think I'll call her anyway," Ginny muttered, closing the door a little harder than she expected. As soon as the sound happened, her phone rang, adding to the loud volume and making her jump. "Hello?" she asked without checking the ID.

"I was hoping you'd answer on the first ring," Hermione sighed with relief. "Please tell me that four of my children aren't banging on your apartment door to question you? They went off to the city for shopping, but I let them have dinner with Ron, and the youngest is going to be the scapegoat."

"I'm aware," Ginny scoffed, peeking out the window. The car was moving slowly up the block now. "I'm watching them pull off now. I think they're trying to convince her to have another go. Should I call family services on them, maybe a truant officer? I play the dumb card rather well."

"I knew Ron would corrupt them, Ginny. I don't want them spending any time with them, but until the courts get off their butts and do something about this, I'm stuck. I can do everything myself, but he just likes messing everything up," Hermione spat, pausing to yell at a child in the background. When the children's background noises stopped, she returned to the phone. "He mentioned that he saw you the other day, that he spoke to you. What's that about?"

"He yelled at me, but he was thrown out before anything I really cared to hear came out of his mouth. Oh, he did blame me for everything going wrong with your marriage to him, if that tells you anything about our encounter."

"He blames me for everything. How could he possibly blame you?" Hermione asked. The sound of running water came in the background. She was washing dishes while she talked again, a common habit. "Oh, it's about Harry, isn't it?" she sighed. "He does still blame you for that, but…how bad was this encounter? You said he was thrown out?" Hermione questioned. You weren't even listening, Ginny thought, but she reminded her of the story's details diligently, telling herself to stop doing that as she spoke. "Ginny, I'm sorry he's so cruel to you. The older ones seem to think he drinks when they're not around, but do I look like I have the time to check? I have nine kids to look after, and now I need to find a job just to pay for our legal fees. It's horrid!"

"You didn't call to ask for my help, did you?" Ginny asked. Ulterior motives were Hermione's life-force, it seemed, and she used to call often about silly matters then slip in the "important bits" later. Ginny was immune to it now, but she also knew to expect it more than she once did.

"Like he gave you any alimony," Hermione scoffed. "I know he doesn't pay you anything worth living off of, and it's not like you've done anything else in ten years," Hermione grinned. She seemed to be mocking Ginny. She felt herself grow tense; she was moments away from hanging up on her semi-beloved sister-in-law. "No, I wanted you to give me enough evidence to prove he's a flight risk to my children. If he's having angry spats with his sister in public, his only sister and his youngest sibling, then maybe I can prove something to this asshole judge we've got. Please, could you report it?"

"I'm thinking of leaving New York soon, as in as soon as possible. I don't want to get involved," Ginny replied sternly yet calmly.

Hermione sighed heavily. "Oh come on, you could do something for me.

"Just like you did for me? Harry may be a powerful person, famous since birth or some bullshit like that, but I could've won at least some letters to my children with the right allies. No, you picked your side, Hermione, and I've picked mine. I've got toast burning in the oven," Ginny said quickly, slamming down the phone before adding, "you selfish bitch!"

She fell onto her couch, eying her unused kitchen. The stove barely worked the moment she moved in, but the kitchen wasn't big enough to be functioning. Two cans could fit stacked in the smallest cabinet, maybe three in the larger. How could she keep a stock of food with numbers like that? She had to custom order her refrigerator when it died because nothing else would fit. In fact, nothing about New York was functioning for Ginny, nothing at all.

"I think we've broken ties," Ginny said to the phone. "You were the last one, Hermione. I can leave peacefully now."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a knock sounded at her door. Ginny peered out through the peephole to see two detectives. She sighed heavily, opening the door.

"I'm Detective Johnson and this is Detective Maverickson. We want to ask you some questions about a former boss of yours," the taller one said, pulling out a notebook and holding his pen ready. Ginny eyed the other one, a portly man who reeked of onions and pungent cologne. "You know who we're talking about, right?"

"I do, but I don't particularly care. I know he's dead, and I know that I had nothing to do with it. Can I get back to trying to have a peaceful morning now?" Ginny asked angrily. The portly one scoffed, leaning his large frame against her door frame. It creaked in protest, but he ignored it.

"We think someone you know is involved, a brother of sorts," he smirked. "Care to answer our questions now?"

"If Ron is involved, I don't care either. Please, I know nothing. Leave me be," Ginny said sternly, closing her door and latching it.

"Just answer a few, please. If you don't, we may have to take you into custody," Detective Johnson begged. Ginny scoffed loud enough for them to hear. She knew the law. She'd done nothing wrong, so they had no right to hold her. "Fine, we'll go have a chat with our higher-ups. Don't leave town, Miss Weasley. We'd hate for the rumors about you to be confirmed because you decided to go missing."

"What rumors?" Ginny asked sternly.

"That video of your spat with him is almost viral around the station. He may not have taken a flying leap like you hoped he would, but the man is still dead and the murder was definitely a hit. You know the man whose DNA is near the scene on a particularly damning piece of evidence. So, you can assume from that what the rumors are about, Miss Weasley," the portly one yelled through the door. Ginny sighed, writing an address down on an old fortune cookie paper.

"Talk to the waiters there. That'll show you how I feel about my brother, and how the feeling is very much mutual," Ginny said sternly. "I'll leave if I damn well please. Now get off my doorstep you fat lug before I lose my security deposit."

"You do need to lose a little weight, Mav," Detective Johnson chuckled, taking the paper from under the door. "We'll check this out, Miss Weasley, but if we need your help, you best leave a number or something around for us, otherwise you will look rather guilty. Spat or no spat, even the biggest enemies come together when enough is at stake."

Ginny didn't respond. She stood in front of the door, listening to their pounding footsteps as they moved down the hall. She'd had enough with everything, particularly with people telling her what to do. It was time to grab her things and run, just like she'd planned for years.

Ginny's wig scratched her head as she boarded the train. No one even bothered looking at her as she took a seat at the back of a car, her one bag in hand. She'd left behind nearly everything she owned, just taking the most important items. She left her old identification, her old important papers. She only took a few things the children once owned with her, as well as a few things to wear for her journey. She already had a wardrobe where she was going, and the key for the door was in her pocket.

"All aboard!" the conductor called outside, walking the loading platform looking for anyone to help onto the train. The doors had already closed on a few of the cars, including Ginny's, but people were still boarding the back. This train would go west, taking dozens to hundreds of destinations. She'd have to change trains three times once she got past the Mississippi, but she planned it that way. She wanted no risk of someone she knew following her, which is why she took the train in the first place. Young and old tourists, weary businessmen in cheap suits, and young college-something's scattered each car, but no thirty-ish-plus-something's like herself.

But on the platform outside, a pair of earrings caught her eye. They were the same as the publisher's niece's, the Skeeter whoever. Ginny sighed to herself, watching the figure closely. She was trying to peer into the car, but the one o'clock sun was making the task nearly impossible.

"Last call! All aboard!" the conductor yelled, making one final sweep of the platform. As he passed the woman, she stopped him, showing him something. He shrugged, moving past her quickly. Ginny sighed slightly with relief, but she didn't experience the feeling entirely until the train began to move. Finally, after years of planning, she was leaving New York City and its plentiful demons forever, and there would be no looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The interrogation rooms were filled with Ginny Weasley's known contacts, or semi-contacts. Hermione was in one room, then Ron, then Harry, whose protesting could be heard throughout all of them. Detectives brought in each one when no one heard from Ginny in six days, a new record for her. A search of her apartment revealed that nothing important was gone, but Ginny wasn't there, and she'd left no destination anywhere in the tiny two rooms she owned.

"How would I know if she's missing, detective? Does the word 'ex' mean anything to you? I want my lawyer!" Harry screamed. The detective he was talking to, Detective Johnson, eyed him like anyone would eye a toddler having a tantrum. "You've ruined ten of my meetings, seven of which will never happen now, and I am fed up with this bureaucratic bullshit!"

"Can it, Potter. I'll have my superior come in when he gets off his coffee break in three hours. You'll get your lawyer then," Detective Johnson smirked, leaving the room before the cup of water they'd given Harry hit the mirror. "Hey, boss, what are the others saying?"

"Mav just walked into Hermione's room. She's calm, aside from having to leave her nine children with three different sitters. The brother is her ex, and he isn't saying much right now," the boss sighed, eying the standoff between the angry-looking ginger and a short, dark-haired detective with a similar look of suppressed rage. "Here's the dialogue now."

"How would I know if she's been hurt or not, detective? We talked about a week ago. She never mentioned anything about leaving or danger or anything! Can I please get back to my children?" Hermione begged.

"Sounds like we have some phone stuff to look into," Detective Johnson sighed. "Unless their phone was already being tapped, we're screwed. Those records would've been deleted days ago."

"Pretty much, but we've gotten some interference from some top agencies. Both of these men here are in deep with various people, and they all want us to let them go so they can keep tracking them. Ginny Weasley will just be missing in action for a while, and there's nothing anyone can do because we can't prove or disprove foul play yet, just that all three of these people are hotheads who need to get out of my precinct as of yesterday."

The detectives had nothing and their only witnesses had their freedom. As long as Ginny seemed safe, that was all they had. Case cold.

Months had passed since Ginny's safe departure. She fell into the life of Jasmine Rayne, a midlevel librarian who left her job to pursue writing. Ginny met her at Central Station on a cold, rainy afternoon. Her makeup was streaked down her face after an unsuccessful journey to street level, and Ginny offered her some makeup removal wipes to help her. The woman then tearfully told Ginny her story: She desperately wanted out of her life, but she didn't know how to please her wealthy parents into supporting her during her endeavors. Ginny gave her some ideas, and as a reward, the woman offered up some identification. She'd go missing in the wilds of Europe, doing whatever she wanted, while Ginny, acting as Jasmine, received payments for the job. The parents knew the job was lost, so Jasmine wrote them a letter showing them some anonymous freelance jobs for a magazine. Ginny had completed those jobs in her name for years now. She just needed to get her own affairs in order to completely become Jasmine and move into the home she was given by her parents.

The property was quiet and far from the small town it belonged to. Ginny's car, Jasmines old blue Mustang, was the only one other than the postman's beat up jeep that ever came down the road. At night, she could hear crickets and see the stars, a dream she'd had since conceiving her first child with Harry. She wanted a good life for her and her children, but he ruined it for her. Now she had the perfect life alone, far from civilization and ever farther from everything that had ever kept her down.

The only time she left was to pick up supplies in town. The general store owner didn't mind preparing her order in advance, but delivery wasn't an option. At eight in the evening, Ginny made the journey into town, picking up the groceries and chatting with the owner while he closed up. In his eyes, she was Jasmine. Her black hair was cut short; it never mattered that black dye was always the first item on the list. Her eyes were the exact same color as Jasmine's without color-changing lenses, and her accent was easy to mold to fit the Midwestern girl. Jasmine was quiet but chatty when provoked, so it fit her personality as well. Everything was perfect, and Ginny did jobs over the internet for extra money when Jasmine's parents delayed their payments.

But Ginny's savings were deep. Jasmine's accounts were loaded, both her travel account and the savings account that Ginny used for her expenses. Jasmine knew that Ginny needed to save up after her move from New York, so she never minded the accumulations. Her parents were also pleased that she was handling her money better, as Jasmine often splurged on weekend adventures when she wasn't working, slamming her accounts as close to the red as she could get without boiling her parents over. Everything was perfect in the setup, everything including Ginny's mood. Being away from the daily drags of New York life, she was able to feel free for the first time in her life. She was no longer the youngest of numerous siblings—the only girl for that matter—and she definitely wasn't the wife of the despicable Harry Potter. The only thing missing were her children, but Ginny could rectify that later. They were young, and if Ginny played her cards right, they'd easily pour over to her side. Hermione confirmed they were unhappy with their father's education decisions. It should be easy to pull them over.

Ginny began writing the memoirs without realizing it. Her nightly letters from New York became the daily stories from her past, starting with her school days with Harry Potter. He was famous for being the son of a corporate genius, but also for being abused by his mother's family, his only caretakers after his father's early heart attack and his mother's robbery-gone-wrong-murder. She looked up to him as a survivor, and the admiration became love, but it never should have. The signs were always there: He loved the attention of being famous. He knew nothing of the world before his release from his family's tiny cupboard under the stairs, but he immediately knew that he liked the attention he got when people recognized him on the street.

The morning she began writing of his first affairs, Jasmine's rarely-dialed number rang for the first time since her arrival. It was a New York number, and Ginny watched nervously as it rang and rang. Finally, after ten rings, the machine kicked in, picking up with Jasmine's old message from years ago, back when she actually lived in the States and didn't send Ginny shot glasses and trinkets from European countries. The ploy worked for years: Ginny entered the dusty house to find only three messages from automated messages on their final words. Most gave up after the second or third ring, she assumed, or at least after five, six, or seven when they knew no one would answer.

But the machine called out the messages without her having to check them, she remembered Jasmine telling her. As she sat in front of the bay window with a steaming mug of coffee and a notebook, she listened to the caller.

"Hello, Jasmine, this is Colleen Skeeter from Skeeter Publishing Incorporated. We're delighted to inform you that you have been selected to attend our conference at Madison Square Gardens in two months' time. If you're interested—"

Ginny's heart skipped a few beats. Wasn't Skeeter the name from her past, the name of the strange woman asking for her memoirs? She wanted to bring down Harry, but Ginny wanted no part of the affair, no part of the heavy rope that would anchor her to the city for years, probably for the rest of her life. And now she was contacting Jasmine, mere months after following her, it seemed, to the train station.

A knock sounded at the door, causing Ginny to cry out.

"Sorry to scare you, Jasmine! You've got a package from your parents!" the post man called. He and Ginny met briefly, but Ginny was playing the role of Jasmine. He waved to her through the window as he walked back to his jeep parked on the road; she waved back with a nervous smile, careful to brush the sweat from her forehead as she walked outside, careful to also put on a robe as well.

Once on the front step, she grabbed the large package with care. Jasmine wrote her a postcard from Paris with the details of this package: A few cakes, several albums of pictures, and a quilt from an aging aunt would be inside. Ginny's thoughts were on the precious cakes, baked from scratch in Jasmine's mother's kitchen. Which Ginny's mother tried hard to cook the best dishes she could, the best ingredients were hard to buy with so many mouths to feed. After her brother's death at the hands of a vicious college rival, angry for yet another prank against him and his fraternity, her mother never cooked again.

"I thought I'd find you here," a voice called from Ginny's right. Ginny looked up to see a rental car in the driveway and the Skeeter woman on the walk leading from it. The package's content was forgotten. It hit the front step with a loud bang before Ginny rushed into the house. "I know it's you! You left some evidence back in your apartment. I haven't told anyone else, but we really need to discuss this, namely the case police are building because of you."

"Five minutes, and you are not to come into this house and you are never to speak to me again!" Ginny hissed, crossing her arms and staring at the woman with a hard gaze.

"Oh, if you agree to what I'll be discussing with you, you'll have to speak to me again," the woman smiled. "My mother called you today about a conference, but it's actually a convention to help find the victims of organized crime, crime organized by your brother and your ex-husband. But there are some problems with the case. The amount of victims will never matter because of your husband's sob story. He's been seeking therapy with the biggest names for weeks now because of your disappearance and his wicked past, a great story for any possible jurors. Without real dirt with real victims, they'll likely take sympathy with him, causing for a hung jury. They can only get him on your disappearance, which the cops say is linked to your brother because he has real concrete evidence against him. He's looking at life, but Harry is looking at a life of freedom. If you want him to suffer as you have, you'll work with us to ensure he never sees the light of day again."

"What did he supposedly do this time?"

"There is no 'supposedly', Ginny," she chuckled. "He killed a couple of people, namely an old nemesis from your school days. So what if he deserved it? Do you hide a retaliation killing? Do you throw it under the rug for decades at a time? Not a chance in hell. He needs to be proven guilty for what he did, and I have the case files if you need to see them. They didn't think they were worth guarding, and my aunt's connections are rather strong," she smirked. Ginny scoffed, looking away. "I cleaned your apartment myself after the cops were gone. They wanted to auction the place, but my aunt knows the landlord, and he wouldn't let them handle his property. I went in to sweep the place for whatever they missed, which kept Harry and Ron from getting this," she said, pushing a bagged envelope towards her. It was from Jasmine, one of their earliest letters. The letter itself was still in Ginny's files, but the missing envelope had bothered her for ages. "It fell between the floor boards into the crawl space. I found it because of some water damage that happened after you left. It led me here, and it would've led them here too. I hope you didn't leave anything else behind, but I was very thorough.

"We need your memoirs to make sure they pay. You know your husband's history, and so will all of America once he reaches out on a special next Friday. If you get my aunt your story by the end of the weekend, she'll have it in the hands of the greatest names in modern literature, which could help you win the case without ever coming forward entirely. We'll make sure they think you're still missing, just like you wanted."

"I want my children. If he's imprisoned, I'll never gain their trust, especially if they think I'm behind it. Even if they hate him for sending them away, they might hate me for more reasons, and this could only add to it."

"Ginny, please. We'll make sure we get a message in for your children. If everything is worded correctly, anything you say won't be tried. He'll have to take it at face value, as will the courts. The prosecutor is connected with my aunt as well, as are many others. Let us help you," she begged.

"I don't trust anyone right now," Ginny sighed, looking at the ground and kicking at it with her bare toes. "I came out here to get away from everything, but…I knew I was leaving behind more wickedness than anything people knew. I've known for so damned long, but I was numb to it. Harry killed that man for retaliation, but he covered it up so they wouldn't question him for it. No one wanted to think that the wrong man did the crime or that the wrong man was killed. It had to be a secret; no one understood what Harry did.

"But looking back, his whole story doesn't make sense. How would he be the wrong guy? Everyone knew who killed his mother. He was a known serial killer who used robbery to get at his victims. He would've killed his father too if he hadn't died so soon. He stopped killing after Harry's mother because he had no choice: She was too precious to the company for them to overlook her death. His guardians hated him for his parents' wealth; it was the state's fault for not letting him have some of the money for living expenses. It was everyone else's fault the whole entire time, just like it was my fault that he needed another woman to help him through the night because I'd just given birth and wouldn't let him have me," Ginny cried. "While his past was tragic, while his fame was an attempt at perfection, he deserves to fall.

"I'll write you the damn memoirs, but it's for my children!" Ginny sobbed, turning to head inside. "I'll leave them out here in a box two days from now. Pick them up whenever or let the weather get it. I don't care, but I don't want to see you or hear the name Skeeter again for as long as I live. I'm not involved with this anymore. My identity was foolproof until you started poking your nose into things. I saw you at the station; you've known all along."

"Think whatever you want, Ginny," she smiled gently. "Write your heart out. You'll feel so much better in the end."

Ginny didn't believe her. She slammed the door and sat down beside her cold mug of coffee with a gaze that sent the dust running. She was furious that she'd been found, infuriated that she'd been discovered after all that work. She wanted to tell the Skeeter family to go do things to themselves that should never be done—

But she wanted to see Harry rot more than anything in the world. If the courts were willing to do it, then she wanted to help them.

She picked up her pen and began to write, determination behind every word.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

It'd been two weeks since Ginny gave her memoirs to the Skeeter family to publish. Their connections had proven handy, and while Harry's sob story rocked millions across the globe, Ginny's memoirs about their troubled relationship spoke louder. People supported her, hoping she would be found safe and sound and not as another victim of Harry or Ron.

Ginny was reading when the woman returned with news from New York. Ginny allowed her inside. She was no longer reluctant to work with her, though she was reluctant to return to the city. She was going to try to change that, Ginny thought, fixing them glasses of tea in the kitchen.

"They found a female body in Central Park last night," she whispered, sighing heavily as she wrapped her hands around an empty mug. "All they know is that she's about your height, about your build, and about your hair color. Someone blew her brains out. The hole in her skull is huge. She was likely killed instantly."

"What does this have to do with me?" Ginny asked. The woman shrugged, smiling gently. "They're going to say she's me, aren't they?"

"They don't have much of a choice, unless you come forward. If you don't say you're safe, they'll think you're her and stop trying to identify the body by other means. The coroner covering the case knows you're missing and knows that you fit the profile. He's not going to care about the details, and this could jeopardize the entire case. They know they didn't kill you, and polygraphs will confirm while the jury sits there confuse. On their first appeal, if counted guilty, they'll win on a technicality. Any time served will disappear; their records will be wiped clean."

"I'm not going back to New York. I've done enough to make sure they'll go down. Use your connections, do something other than beg me to go back," Ginny pleaded as the kettle whistled loudly.

"You have no choice this time. Just for the day; we'll pick with the courts which day will be perfect. You should make a statement, testify through that. Put your memoirs under oath or something. Once you get everything in order, you can just disappear again. You can live forever as Jasmine, if that's what you want. Your children have been approached. They want answers about their mother. Their father died to them the day he wouldn't fly them back, stranding them in England for a very dangerous summer. If it weren't for the family friends your father had there, they'd likely be in the English foster systems by now, abandoned entirely. If you want them, they'll be there, but you have to make things right."

Ginny sat down hard on the dining chair, staring at the mug she'd left steaming on the counter. She could not allow things to go down the way they wanted to, but she couldn't face that city again, the city that stole her life and forced her to live as a prisoner for years, or at least in Ginny's mind. She knew from scattered reports that people weren't buying her tale's epilogue, the part where Harry tormented her in her work for ten years. She could've left at any time, yet she stayed, taking the abuse day after day. Abuse victims knew this was a sign of the abuse, but to the outside eye, Ginny was a weakling who begged for the abuse she received.

"You're not even thinking about this, are you?" the woman asked, tears falling down her face. "You've got to make things good on your half. You're the only one who can do it."

"I can't face that city, not after everything," Ginny choked, shaking her head as she stood to retrieve her mug. "Harry and Ron did enough to get what they deserve. A random body in the park should have nothing to do with it. Your connections from your aunt are strong, you claim. Use them and not me; I've done nothing to warrant that."

"Her hands are tied, Ginny! So they could claim it was a hit man or a random attack on you. Either way, your children no longer have a mother and their case could blow open and freedom could be theirs! Make things right. One day in the city, that's all we ask."

"No," Ginny whispered. "There are too many things going on. I'd rather stay here, hidden from them. And if you threaten that, I've got connections elsewhere. Jasmine told me I could pose as her to visit her parents at any time. Even if they did find out, my story would be enough to gain their sympathy and trust. I've got my backup plan. Don't you dare ruin that for me."

"Fine," she sighed, pushing away her mug. "I thought you'd want to do the right thing. You lost your children because they were pulled from you, but that body is someone's daughter. They'll want to know she's dead, not just missing. They'll want to know the answers. Besides, do you really want your ailing mother to hear you're dead? She's still alive, Ginny, still rotting away in a facility that your worried father visits every day after work. They're still here to get the news. Do you really want to do that to them?"

Ginny pondered the thought of her parents for a moment. She'd lost contact with them after the divorce. Her father thought Harry was her true love, the answer to all her prayers. She'd liked him for years, so the relationship was a blessing. He was already a part of the family, staying with them through the summers and spending time with everyone. He was their golden son-in-law who could never do any wrong. They begged her to rethink the divorce, saying that every marriage had its flaws—though they would never admit the flaws within their own. They begged and pleaded and prayed that Ginny would change her mind, then the letters stopped when she quit responding.

"I'm already dead to them. It'd be a relief to know that I can't kill their dreams anymore," Ginny whispered. "Go, please," Ginny said, pointing to the door. The woman nodded, leaving a note on the table. They were the known court dates, though Ginny could just check the news to know when the next ones were. The case was being covered all over the country, even on Jasmine's basic cable.

With the house empty, Ginny drank both glasses of tea, flipping through the pages of her book blindly. Her eyes would pick up random words, but they never meant anything. Nothing meant anything. Ginny wasn't giving up, but she wasn't going to join the battle anymore. She quietly wondered if that was the same thing as she drifted into a restless sleep.

The trial was still going two months later. The body, identified as Ginny Weasley by the medical examiner, had become their poison. Both passed tests saying they didn't kill her, and both knew the body in those pictures wasn't Ginny. Something was off about everything, even though the body was a battered skeleton covered in Central Park soil.

The verdict would come in mere days, but not until one more witness took the stands. She'd been called in as an emergency witness for the prosecution, a one-day affair. The judge allowed it because strong allegations were made that could derail the entire case: The prosecution claimed it was Ginny herself.

She was testifying from an undisclosed location miles from the courthouse, or at least that's what they told the courts. She sat nervously in front of a flickering camera while the stunned courtroom watched. Her hair was its normal color and length, her face still as alive as it was before she left, though neither defendant could really know what she was like. Both were pale, looking at the figure like they were seeing a ghost. The only thing proving she was real was the district attorney sitting in the background, a rare sight but needed for the proceedings.

"Do you have documents proving you are indeed Ginny Weasley?" the judge asked, a look of contempt on his face. He thought it was a ploy, but he would let her speak.

Ginny had the documents, but they were actually in evidence. The court produced them, but the judge shook his head while muttering under his breath. If she was who she says she was, she'd have identification. More tests would be needed, and he stopped her from testifying.

"Your Honor, I know this is an interesting situation," the prosecutor laughed nervously, "but she won't return after today. She's going back to the new life she built for herself, and she will not disclose her new identity to the courts. She's used her resources to do her own witness protecting, if you will."

"She has to be identified. I won't have an actress sitting in the witness chair, and I won't have fraud! This case is too important for this to go wrong now. She's dismissed from her duties. She's ruining everything!" the judge roared.

"Please, Your Honor, it's me, Ginny. I've got a full statement ready, starting with my story. Who else could tell my story better than me? People have read my memoirs, but only I know what wasn't written, the few details I left out as insurance," Ginny pleaded. The judge scoffed, looking down to the space in front of him. He was irritated, tired of the interruptions. Ginny knew from television that the defense constantly delayed the court for motions, so much so that they had to get motions approved by the district attorney before bothering the courts again. It worked, but there were still details to be ironed out that would take days. Ginny could mean more hiccups, more slowing, and even the jury was getting restless with all the confusion.

"I won't have it. Who approved this in the first place? Ten minute recess to work through this madness!" the judge screamed, rushing towards his chambers.

"She said it would work!" Ginny cried. "I came back to this city to give them a message, but no one's listening!"

"Calm down, Miss Weasley. He can't accept just everything. To the court, you've been dead for months now. You have to understand—" the district attorney pleaded. But Ginny wouldn't listen. Her fragile mind was broken, shattered by her journey back to the city that had ruined her life.

"Record something for me, please, and leave the room while I do. I have to speak. I have to get out my thoughts," Ginny hissed, pointing to the camera. The district attorney did as she asked, leaving the room for her to speak.

The explosion rocked the building with enough force to knock people down. Dust covered everything as alarms blared. People tried to rush forward to escape the danger, but too much was in the way. Besides, the building itself was unstable, and anyone above the first floor had to contend with an odd shaking that made it impossible to get one's bearings and get out.

The building collapsed a minute later, trapping everyone inside. Days, weeks, and months later, there were still bodied unaccounted for. Ginny was gone, her video the only thing found of her. She told Harry exactly what she thought of him, and she apologized to the innocents that would be hurt because of him. She then set the charges in front of the camera, pulling them out of her large handbag and from pockets sewn under her clothes. How she'd gotten through her day without blowing herself up, no one knew, but they did know that she was the culprit.

Harry and Ron were both killed with the same support beam. Their lawyers, a couple from Long Island, escaped with only minor injuries—the break room up the hall from the courtroom was built next to the elevator shaft, helping it remain more stable when the building collapsed. Fifteen or more people were saved by situations like that, but Ginny's antics killed over a hundred people. She was a wanted woman whose children were now against her, saying her actions were a part of the pure evil polluting their world.

The Skeeter family never commented, though they knew nothing of Ginny's plans. No one did, and no one knew where she was now. The explosion happened ten seconds after the video ended, enough time for her to get out through the entrance of the court house—she was really on the first floor the entire time. The only other thing she left was a letter apologizing to the families. It was soaked in a fireproof resin, protecting it from the blast. She made sure the world saw it was all Harry's fault, though the world retaliated against that. Ginny was the one who killed those people, and now Ginny was the enemy.

Jasmine smiled as she entered her home. She never planned on coming back to the States, but after seeing the news, she knew she had to come back.

As she stood in front of her bedroom door, a reflection looked back to her. Their hair was the same, their eyes, their expression. Jasmine smiled to herself. She was happy to help a friend.

~END~


End file.
